I was in the company of a handful of folks this afternoon. We watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Most of the folks were 21-22; three of us were 50 or 50+. (Apologies, Michael, if you are only 49.)
The question, “Who’s seen the movie Shane?” came up. Three less-than-perfectly-smooth hands went up.
It’s at this point that I just want to gloat. If I had said, with the proper voice inflection, “Shane…” when The Girls were all here, I would have been met with a chorus of, “Shane… I love you, Shane.” (I have similar feelings about every single string of words in White Christmas.) And that makes me a really Good Mother (even though our rhetoric isn’t quite true).
Joey: Shane! Come back!
Joey: I just love Shane!
Joey: Pa’s got things for you to do. And Mother wants you. I know she does!
Shane: [to Joey] You go home to your mother and your father and grow up to be strong and straight.
Mr. Big Food, Daughter C., and I watched Rudolph last evening. Daughter C. did some live but not online blogging while we were watching. It’s all very incorrect. There are all manner of isms in Rudolph. And by-gum there ain’t no icebergs anymore, as Nora would say.
It’s disturbing to me that young people in more or less Rural Mississippi don’t know Shane.